


What On Earth...?

by mattydaddarios



Series: Fight or Flight [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comatose, Damn monsters, False Life, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, JOIN THE PARTY, M/M, and borderline homophobic, as true to every character's nature as i can get, damn fragile masculinity, damn john winchester, dean is a bisexual in denial, did i already damn monsters, dream land, not particularly set in any season, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23245669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattydaddarios/pseuds/mattydaddarios
Summary: “Sam, he’s going to be *okay.*” The celestial repeats, his tone easy and sure. It’s even said as if it’s destiny. Dean Winchester *will* be okay. It’s only a matter of time. And Sam wishes he could be enthusiastic about it; clap Cass’s shoulder right back and say, “Fuck yeah he will.” but he *can’t.* He’s drained, the last drops of adrenaline already having left him, nothing remaining except for the endless worry churning and flopping uncomfortably in his stomach. All he can give in turn is a smile─a smile with too much effort behind the curves─before yanking the driver’s door open just as he planned, slipping inside with no such intention to truly believe.In which Dean Winchester falls into a djinn-induced coma and wakes up to a goddamn La-La-Land.---THIS STORY IS SEASON ONE OF THE SERIES!
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Fight or Flight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1675699
Kudos: 8





	1. Episode 1: Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! - This is my first Supernatural fanfiction, and I am excited to share! I am not new to this community, but it has been quite some time since i wrote my last piece (roughly a year now, if I'm doing my math right)! If you haven't already seen the tags, be warned that this story is a Destiel (Dean/Castiel) slowburn, because I am a *monster* for slowburn. I try not to make the romance my main focus, but whether or not you're here to see that content, I hope you can stick around!
> 
> Updates - I will try to update every Saturday, but i can't guarantee I'm always prepared! All I ask for is your patience and your support, thank you!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quality Warning - this pilot is slightly rusty due to me first easing into this story (and I do not exactly have faith in my writing to sound top-notch the first go-around lol). Please bear with it, I know it's chaos!
> 
> Chapter Warnings - Blood mentions, broken bodies, and Dean is *not* having a fun time.

**\---------------------------------**

**Episode 1: Pilot**

**\---------------------------------**

Dean is thrown into a wall without mercy, groaning in pain as his stomach meets the dusty floor and his lunch threatens to spill back out from his mouth.

His chest is heaving, lungs burning, and heart just about ready to burst from his surely broken rib cage. He can hear blood flow in his ears and, for a moment, it’s all he can focus on. His thoughts are numbed─from the pain or the blood flow, he isn’t sure─as well as the outside catastrophe ensuing just feet away from his downed state. He’s normally able to get back on his feet quickly, but, then again, he probably has a concussion as a result of his head smashing into the wall just as hard as the rest of his body. He better not be too broken to go to a hospital, though. He doesn’t need no damn hospital.

As coherent thoughts finally make their way back to him, the blonde struggles to his feet, using the wall he dropped in front of as support, hand almost slipping coming in contact with the torn-through wallpaper and broken down drywall. Oh, god, he might really need a hospital. The banging in his head really shouldn’t be as powerful as this. It’s like he can’t even see, tossing and turning trying to clear his head. Words enter and leave his mind within seconds, and he can’t think a damn straight thought for one goddamn minute. It’s irritating, and he wants to get angry─ _The Hulk_ level angry─but the second he attempts to he’s keeling over from even more pain than before.

 _God friggin’ dammit!_ Dean thinks─or, well, attempts to think─back to square one on the floor. He wants to curse more than ever now, beat up the damn _ground_ as if it would amount to the battle Sammy and Cass were currently having in the room just a step over. He needs to help them, he needs to goddamn _help!_ The lost-minded hunter tries to stand once more out of pure will alone, but the attempt is futile. His brain doesn’t even register. All he is is a near-corpse on the ground, eyes still not adjusted, head definitely not better, body feeling like a damn sack of potatoes.

“S’m,” the injured Winchester calls for his little brother, his throat feeling clogged. Probably with blood, or the damn dust that is still swirling around him as he pathetically takes a seat on the ground. Or─no. They’re probably stars. Dean is probably seeing stars. “S’m!”

“Dean!” A breath of relief escapes the blonde’s swollen lips when he hears the voice of his baby brother. At least he’s not injured enough to slur words yet. That’s good. It means he’s okay enough to still fight. “Dean, I’ll be right there! Hang on! Cass, go to him!”

After that, Dean stops listening. It hurts more than _anything_ to try and focus on the words of his family. His family that can’t even make time for him trying to defeat the stupid fucking djinn that pretty much mangled him up. If he could properly talk, he’d give credit to the damn monster─credit that is in no way sincere, but still credit─for being able to take him down so bad he literally cannot get back up. He can hear the distinct crispiness of Castiel’s voice, farther away from him than Sammy, but still loud all the same. “I can’t!” Is the reply. Then, with it, follows more grunting and punching and guns firing and blades slashing through what it can get.

 _Get up. Get_ up _,_ a voice that isn’t Dean’s demands. It takes a moment, but he finally recognizes the ferocity and intimidation as none other than the voice of John Winchester.

 _You weak, boy?_ John taunts.

 _No, sir,_ a young, terrified, Dean responds shakily.

 _I_ said _, are you_ weak _, boy!_

_No, sir!_

_Well then get the_ hell _up!_

_Yes, sir!_

Dean’s hand reaches for the wall again on its own accord, attempting to lift the rest of his dead weight on his two legs that seem to have given up.

_Get up, get up._

His other arm gets the message and follows in suit of his left, clawing at the wall he’s rested upon and searching for an edge that could help him.

_Get up. Get up. Getupgetupgetupgetup._

And he does.

Dean stands, limbs just about ready to drop all their progress the second he’s on his feet. He’s still partially blind, his head still pounding incessantly. He is barely functioning.

_Give up, give up._

_No._ No _!_

 _Then_ fight _, boy!_

But he can’t.

He falls again, cursing incoherently as he goes.

“Dean!”

Sammy... Sammy!

Dean struggles to sit up, but this time his body has given up all the way. _Just...let me.. rest…_

He can hear a hissing above him, but his eyes refuse to open. _Sleep….let me sleep…_

And then he feels a cold touch to his forehead, and he does.

“ _Dean!_ ”


	2. Episode 2: Say What Now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings - violence, monster death. Sam is an angry boy, Dean is a confused boy, and Cass is doing his best.

**\---------------------------------**

**Episode 2: Say What Now?**

**\---------------------------------**

“Son of a bitch!” Sam shouts as the djinn escapes his and Castiel’s pointless fire and flings itself around Dean’s fallen figure. They’d come prepared, Sam  _ knew  _ they came prepared, dammit. He’d checked all their supplies thrice, pestered Dean and listed everything to make sure they actually, for real, for  _ sure, _ had them, and his older brother replied an affirmative every time (increasingly more irritated each list-off, but that isn’t his point). They had silver blades dipped in lamb’s blood, Cass had his angel blade─they even brought  _ guns, _ for Christ’s sake!─but it wasn’t enough. No, this bastard monster was the slippiest yet. Sam would’ve been borderline ashamed for letting the thing slide passed him if it weren’t for the instant panic that hit watching its sickeningly humanoid body fall onto his brother and reach its tattooed arm out to touch his forehead.

Impulse taking over rationality,  _ strategy,  _ the younger Winchester charges, aiming to tackle the djinn before it could so much as  _ breathe _ against his brother’s cheek, but he’s too late. Just a second away from shoving the monster into the damn ground, but he can still catch the sight of Dean’s veins showing through his skin─blue. So,  _ so _ blue─and he knows there isn’t any hope. Still, the brunette captures the creature in his arms, off of Dean, barely a few feet above his head, before beating the ever living  _ shit _ out of it. It writhes and hisses in protest, the heavy fists to its face not a pretty feeling, Sam’ll bet, but he doesn’t stop. The anger inside him (anger toward the fact he let the bastard slip; anger that it got to his  _ brother _ ) increases every second he spends staring into that ugly face─into those blue, blue eyes.

He only pauses when he hears Cass shouting his name by the entrance of the kitchen in which he, his brother, and the face-beat-in djinn reside, holding Sam’s blood-coated silver blade. “Catch!” Is all he says, before he’s thrusting the weapon to the younger Winchester, who catches it with only a minuscule fumble. Handle of the blade held white-knuckle tight, Sam raises his arm and plunges down, down, down, right into the djinn’s chest.

The writhing beneath his weight stops, the blue in those god awful eyes dull, and the hissing flows into silence. Sam sits up, his labored breaths the only noise in the dead silent shitshow of a cabin until heavy, rushed footsteps approach. The long-haired brunette turns, jaw still hung as he sucks in all the air he possibly can back into his lungs, seeing Cass slide to his knees next to the fallen, now unconscious, Winchester.

“Dean,” The angel calls, exerting his own labored breaths (despite the unnecessity of it) as he gently slaps the injured hunter in his face. There’s no response and, after two solid, falsely hopeful seconds, panic is shared between him and Sam. The younger Winchester scrambles off the disgusting corpse of the djinn, making his way next to Cass as he takes over to check Dean’s pulse.

“He’s alive, but his pulse is slowed.” He announces into the air. Castiel knows it’s for him, but Sam refuses to look at anything but his unconscious brother. “Dean, come on, man. You gotta wake up.” He says gently, but the urgency in his voice is far too prominent to go amiss. It’s almost a physical hit to the angel beside him, striking Castiel into his own building fear as his eyes widen with the same amount of determination to have Dean _ wake. _ All he can do is watch as Sam grabs Dean by his shoulders and shakes him, hesitantly at first, then a little aggressively, until the desperation to see his brother’s eyes  _ open  _ is too much for even the wind.

At this point, the younger Winchester has pulled his brother to sit up, his limp body falling into Sam’s as he hugs him close.

“Sam,” Castiel finally manages, the brunette’s panicked eyes falling onto his only after another second. It’s scarily obvious just how out of touch Sam is, cradling Dean just a pinch too tight, his arms looking relentless in their curl around the injured hunter’s shoulders. “He’s going to be okay.”

The words don’t register, not for another tense minute (a minute so eerily silent that the angel could almost  _ hear _ Sam’s blood rush and spike and flow beneath his skin), but when they do the brunette is nodding too shakily, too unsurely.

“Where─where do we bring him? To a hospital? What can a hospital do?” Sam finally speaks, the iron hug around his brother easing only slightly. Castiel’s mouth opens, but it’s hesitant. “I─I don’t know.” He admits. “Right now, let’s try the bunker. We can try to find a cure, and...if there is none at hand, I’ll search everywhere else. And if there isn’t anything discovered in my search, then…” He doesn’t quite meet Sam’s desperate gaze by the end, his sharp blue eyes turned dull falling onto Dean’s face, to the prominent blue veins that shine and creep all around his cheeks, his jawline, his chin. It isn’t any more pleasant a sight than Sam’s fear-struck hazel hues, so he opts to stare at the wall Dean was thrown into instead. It’s barely better, but it’ll have to do. “... _ Then _ we go to a hospital.”

None,  _ none _ , of those options fill any sort of relief inside Sam. It only makes him fear for Dean’s life even more, right off the goddamn charts. “Can’t you heal him?” He hates how his voice wavers, how he feels so damn small with the knowledge that his brother isn’t awake to pick at him for it, tell him, “Why’re you even worrying? I’m fine! Aren’t I always fine?” and Sam would huff but say nothing in return because he knows, they  _ both  _ know, he never is. At least the banter would restore some goddamn peace within his aching chest, even if underneath the surface the damn topic was somber as all hell.

Castiel’s lips part, hesitation returning. Only, this time, it’s accompanied by doubt. “I will try.” He offers, and  _ still  _ Sam’s anxiety isn’t satisfied. Not even goddamn close. “But we need to get to the bunker, Sam. Djinn have family; the brethren of this beast may return any moment now and I cannot risk  _ you  _ being poisoned either.”

Sam nods in understanding, movement this time around more steady but just barely so, before getting to his feet, repositioning his arms to instead tuck underneath Dean, lifting him up bridal style. The younger Winchester knows that if he were awake, Dean would complain like a goddamn baby and slap his brother away, assure (without the actual assuring bit) that he is fully capable of getting by on his own, then fall face-first the second he attempts to step forward just an inch. The image would’ve earned even a ghost of a smile out of the long-haired brunette if he weren’t staring at Dean right now, who is still unconscious, still limp, still not  _ here _ .

Castiel stands with him, leading the way back to the Impala parked a few yards outside the cabin. By the time Sam catches up, the angel already has the back door opened, waiting patiently for the young hunter to slip his brother along the seat. He does so without a word, snagging Baby’s keys from within Dean’s jeans pocket and shutting the door.

Cass doesn’t move for another second, staring up at Sam as he shuffles to the driver’s door not even a foot away, hand on the door handle and ready to  _ yank  _ (if Dean were awake, he’d slap the back of his head chidingly and shout, “Treat her with more respect, asshole!”), before feeling a grip on his shoulder, causing him to pause and turn to the angel.

“Sam, he’s going to be  _ okay _ .” The celestial repeats, his tone easy and sure. It’s even said as if it’s destiny. Dean Winchester  _ will  _ be okay. It’s only a matter of time. And Sam wishes he could be enthusiastic about it; clap Cass’s shoulder right back and say, “Fuck yeah he will.” but he  _ can’t. _ He’s drained, the last drops of adrenaline already having left him, nothing remaining except for the endless worry churning and flopping uncomfortably in his stomach. All he can give in turn is a smile─a smile with  _ too much effort _ behind the curves─before yanking the driver’s door open just as he planned, slipping inside with no such intention to truly  _ believe. _

Cass is eventually in the seat next to him, looking just as exhausted as he, staring out the window at an angle  _ just  _ right enough so he can stare at Dean through his peripherals.

And with that, Sam is racing out of the woods in the Impala _ ─Dean’s _ Impala─with an angel by his side and an unconscious brother stashed in the back.

\---

Dean sits up with a jolt, gasping for breath whilst his green eyes frantically scan the room he’s in. He was fully expecting to still be in the ugly ass kitchen he passed out in, Sam and Cass crowded around him with relieved looks on their faces, only… No. This place, wherever the hell he is… is not even  _ close  _ to a rundown kitchen with molded food and worn out kitchenware. This is… this is fucking  _ heaven. _

He’s not in his jacket, jeans, flannel and standard tee, which he  _ knows  _ he was dressed in just moments earlier. No, he’s in his sleepwear: boxers and nothing else. And that realization makes him panic big time (only, not outwardly. To hell if he displays any weakness (despite being alone)). He immediately wonders if aliens have abducted him, as much as a stretch that may be, and had taken him to his own personal utopia out on a beach house only to be probed. He visibly cringes at the thought, breath hitching and stopping the heavy gasps for good.  _ Aliens aren’t real, _ he assures himself. But he thought the same thing about angels and look where he is now; his  _ best friend _ is one, for fuck’s sake.

Speaking of which…

“Cass?” He calls, maybe a little too gently just in case aliens  _ are _ real and are currently hiding in his beautiful,  _ beautiful, _ beach home, ready to strike.

_ Shut  _ up, _ inner Dean! Aliens do  _ not _ fucking exist. If they did, we would’ve seen them by now, _ he reminds himself once more. With that knowledge, the hunter forces his (very,  _ very  _ minuscule) fear of aliens and probes to the back of his mind, away with all the rest of his least concerns.

“Cass?” He repeats, louder this time (although barely more confident), slowly peeling the blanket comforter from off his legs and standing. Still no response.

Gulping borderline audibly, Dean makes his way out of his presumed bedroom, sliding the wooden door just in front of his bed open. For a moment, he appreciates how fancy a  _ slide door _ is in his beach home, even huffing in respect at whoever designed this place.  _ This musta costed a fortune, _ he thinks absently, only returning to his objective when he's finally done marveling and on the other side.

If Dean was amazed by a simple door, then his brain  _ definitely  _ bursted seeing the rest of the home. To the right of him, a kitchen sits, beautiful and almost  _ royal,  _ with sunshine pouring through squeaky clean floor-to-ceiling windows. Follow the two shallow steps down to the left and there you have the living room. A long crescent couch sits facing the wall, where an honest to god  _ beauty  _ of a flatscreen TV hangs a couple of feet above the floor, tilted at just the  _ perfect  _ angle. In between them, a coffee table sits, books stacked on one side with a little succulent resting, healthy, in the middle. And lastly, feet away, in the corner, on the wall where the front door sits in the middle, are bookshelves. Bookshelves filled with books. There’s more books in one shelf than Dean has ever read in his entire life ( _ not _ including  _ Busty Asian Beauties _ magazines, otherwise he would’ve beat Sam in all their “how many books can we read within a week” shenanigans).

Speaking of Sam…

“Sammy?” Dean finally steps off of the mini porch just in front of his door, bare feet smacking against marble floors so shiny Dean can see his reflection without even having to focus. “Sam. You here?”

“Yes, I am.”

Dean jumps, turning to the far, far away room just behind the living area─a mostly empty space; Dean didn’t bother to look too closely at it─throat suddenly clenching as he swallows seeing what he… did  _ not _ expect to see.

Standing just off to the side is a very…  _ very _ … busty… Asian beauty.

He can feel his mouth water with desire in an instant, heat rushing all throughout his body. He smacks his lips to compensate for his awkward silence, words practically nonexistent as he just keeps right on staring.

“S-Sam?” He croaks pathetically, almost flinching as the woman chuckles─way,  _ way _ too seductively─and strides over. God, that’s so  _ hot, _ but─but no! Holy fuck Jesus Christ  _ no. _ He tries not to dwell over the possibility that Sammy, his  _ brother  _ Sammy, was magically turned into a B.A.B. and somehow that made them not related (not even a goddamn motherfucking  _ pinch _ ), making it okay to have done what he assumes they had done, considering  _ he’s _ only in his boxers and  _ Not _ -Sammy is only in her undergarments. Extremely lacey… provocative… undergarments.

Dean swallows again.

Not-Sammy makes it to him, her naturally tan arms wrapping around his tense─very,  _ very _ tense─shoulders. “How are you feeling, big boy?” She coos, and holy  _ fuck _ she needs to stop talking or Dean will  _ cry. _ Right here. Right now.

“Uh… Uh, great! Yeah, I’m just─ _ bursting _ with energy. I─I think I have─uh─work.. soon.. And I gotta… gotta go.” Is all Dean can manage before pulling away from Not-Sammy’s warm embrace and right back into his bedroom, through the luxurious slide door and searching for a bathroom in a damn near  _ frenzy. _ It takes a moment, frantic hands slapping against every possible surface, before he opens a random door to his left and stumbles into a…  _ dazzling  _ bathroom. He would’ve taken the time to appreciate it, just like he had everything else in this place, if it weren’t for the panic spiking through his body mercilessly, heart pounding way too loud in his chest.

What. The absolute. Fuck.

Dean reaches the sink in a gracious almost-fall, calloused hands clasping the marble just a little too tight. He stares himself down in the mirror, checking to make sure that what he is, is…  _ him. _ He even smacks his face a couple times, splashes water and feels the sharp cold stab at his skin. Still, he remains the same. Only, that doesn’t seem to calm him down.

Because, dammit, he  _ knows  _ that only moments before he woke up he was in a shitty ass kitchen, injured to  _ hell _ because of a stupid djinn that fought all too well, not in a goddamn  _ glorious  _ beach house that only rich people have the privilege of owning.

Where the fuck is Sam? Where is Cass? Where is his goddamn  _ family? _

Calming down just a bit (a.k.a. not at all), Dean walks back out into his bedroom, spotting a cellphone on the nightstand he woke up beside. He didn’t notice it earlier, but damn is he glad to see it now, because the moment he does he’s sprinting to his bed, retrieving it and turning it on to a home screen that is… very heartwarming. Way past what Dean usually kept as a background on his phone (a.k.a. nothing because he’s boring). The picture there is of him, Sam, and Cass with their arms wrapped around each other. They’re all dressed like goddamn  _ nerds, _ Sam in a cozy sweater and khakis, Cass in a sweater vest and also khakis, and  _ Dean _ in the worst outfit yet: a  _ turtleneck  _ and khakis.  _ And  _ nerd glasses!

The blonde physically gags, but moves past it begrudgingly. That is  _ not _ his focus. His focus is to hopefully find Sammy in his contacts so he can call him and ask him what the  _ fuck _ is going on.

Eventually finding it, Dean gasps as the phone rings. He brings the device to his ear, relief washing over him instantly hearing the oh so familiar voice of his brother Sammy (so much better than the Not-Sammy probably still outside his fucking room) say, “Yello?”

“Sam!” Dean cries, a grin spreading across his face so genuinely that his cheek muscles immediately begin to ache from how much  _ power  _ is within the stretch. “It’s so good to hear your voice, man!”

“Jeez, take it down a notch, man. I’m kinda in the middle of starting a Netflix marathon with Jess.” Sam replies, irritation evident although no heat is tethered to his words.

But.

That’s… not Dean’s focus.

Dean’s focus is on─

“I’m sorry─ _ Jess? _ You─you mean Jessica Moore?” His excitement plummets into shock, but his heart continues racing, this time quicker than it ever has. He might as well have a heart attack with the rate his goddamn heart is pitter-patting!

“Uhhh, yeah? She’s my wife. Did you forget?” Sam questions. Dean barely processes it.

“Your… your  _ what now? _ ”

“My… wife… Dean, are you okay?”

Dean feels a clog in his throat. Jess isn’t dead. Sam and her are married. Jess isn’t dead. Sam and her are married.  _ Jessica Moore is not dead, and Samuel Winchester and her are wearing matching wedding rings. _

“Dean? Dean. Yo. Shouldn’t you be at work? It’s noon.”

Finally, the blonde comes to his senses. Work? What─what the  _ hell  _ did he work as? “Uh─uh, yeah.” Comes the sputtering, disbelieving words. “I’m─sorry for bothering you, man, I just… I guess I just wanted to check in on you and the Missus.”

“Yeah, right.” Sam huffs jokingly. “Well, if that’s really all you came here for, can I hang up now? I kinda wanna start this marathon.”

“Mm─yeah. Of course. I’ll─I’ll hang up now.”

A pause. No one moves.

“Dean… are you okay?” Sam repeats a final time, the beginnings of genuine worry seeping through the phone.

Silence. Silence as Dean  _ comprehends  _ all of this. Because… holy fucking shit… this is.. This is a goddamn  _ handful _ .

“Yes. When am I not okay?” He responds eventually, feigning confidence. “I’m gonna go now. Bye, bitch.”

Another huff from the phone. “Jerk.”

And then Dean hangs up, arms going limp at his sides

Again: What. The absolute. Fucking.  _ Fuck! _

\---

It took some time, but Dean is finally out of his beach home, dressed in slick black slacks and a neat as  _ all  _ hell white button up. He'd found them in a closet full of just as snazzy duplicates (not a flannel in sight, unfortunately), along with the occasional band tee that seemed worn out and old. He looks like the hot boss in every business romance novel─not that… he reads those…─spicing up the joint with his sharp looks.

He already walked Not-Sammy out the door, trying to be as polite as possible even as he mentally begged for her to get the  _ fuck  _ out. He couldn’t stand to look at her unless he was on his way to Boner Land, and he was  _ not  _ having it. Not at all.

He follows a stone path dusted in sand all the way to an open parking space, finding─

“Baby!” Dean shouts, not caring if there was anyone around to hear. He runs up to his beloved, resting his hands on her roof as he gives a near-breathless chuckle. This day truly can’t get any better, chaos with Not-Sammy aside. Or─actually? Fuck it. Not-Sammy is also a reason this day is way too good to be true. Dare he say it, but she was  _ hot. _ Like, _ flaming _ hot. Even hotter when he imagines her name as something like Melody and not the same name as his baby brother’s. God, this is a _ treat! _

But just then he’s startled by the honk of a car that  _ isn’t  _ Baby, which is instead coming from another vehicle that is now parked just a yard away. Dean turns to squint, confusion washing over him until the driver slips out.

Dean catches his breath. “Cass?”

The angel is smiling at him as he shuts the door to his car, walking up to the blonde all chipper.

Listen, Dean is all for seeing his best friend again, so much so that he’s pulling the angel into a bone-crushing hug, but… Dude. Castiel’s khakis? His sweater vest? The fucking  _ nerd look? _ Nuh-uh. This can’t truly be  _ his  _ Cass. Just as not his as this whole goddamn apple pie life. Man, not even the  _ real  _ Cass looked this nerdy (if anything, he still held his menacing aura, even after all these years of knowing him), and he’s a goddamn nerd through and through!

Dean eventually pulls away, grin still plastered despite his revelation. Cass is still smiling too, but it does falter as he clears his throat. “Dean, it’s  _ three. _ You need to come to work, seeing as you’re already dressed. I’ve been waiting for you to show since  _ nine. _ ”

The hunter blinks─once, twice─before realization hits. “We work together?”

Cass sends him a deadpan look. “ _ Obviously. _ Why else would I waste my lunch break to drive here and get you?”

Dean’s lips tremble a tiny bit. Well….  _ that’s _ … new Cass behavior. His Cass was rarely sassy, but… This guy? Whoever he is… he has a  _ mouth. _

Dean sucks his teeth, bitchiness spreading through him in response to the sharp reply. “Okay, then, asshole, get your ass in the car and drive.”

\---

Sam slams yet another book shut, frustration finally reaching its boiling point as he lets out a more than angry guttural noise, throwing his head back and rubbing his face a little too aggressively. There’s been nothing _ ─nothing!─ _ that talks about a cure for djinn-induced comas. It was barely even touched on in the damn novels! The only repeating solution was  _ killing  _ the damn thing, and Sam has  _ done  _ that! God, why can’t the Winchesters just catch a goddamn  _ break? _

“Sam.”

The young hunter straightens in his seat, head turning to look at the angel who called him. “What.” It’s a question, but it’s spoken harsher than necessary. Sam realizes so and sighs in a silent apology; this night is just… not the best.

Castiel knows. He understands. For a moment, he just remains by the entrance of the study room, lips pursed and eyes solemn, dull. He doesn’t like to see his charges in so much stress, Sam more so considering he’s the only charge awake enough to actually  _ be  _ stressed. The bottle in his loose grip is held up slowly as he makes his approach, albeit cautiously. He doesn’t want to get barked at, even though it’s wholly expected and, again, the angel understands the absolute  _ chaos  _ Sam is experiencing. Hell, he’s going through it right now too. He’s just… more in tune with it, he supposes. Even though Sam can control himself better than any man he’s met. Still, he keeps right on understanding the young hunter’s pain. He gets that control is the least of Sam’s concerns with his brother in a coma only doors down the hall of their bedrooms.

The angel makes it to the table Sam is brooding at, placing the beer he’s been holding by the Winchester. Sam looks at it, then at Cass, before taking the alcohol with a quiet, “Thanks.” and opening the bottle without so much as a twist and chugging away.

The angel simply watches, face still dull─still understanding. He eventually takes the seat across from the brunette, getting as comfortable as he can under the tension practically radiating off of his conscious charge.

By the time Sam puts down the bottle, more than half of the alcohol is gone, gulped down without even a pause. Again, Castiel understands.

Sam shoves the book in front of him out of the way, grabbing the next one out of his guaranteed-not-to-have-anything-useful pile.

Minutes pass in silence. Clocks click obnoxiously. Sam refuses to look up and take a break. Castiel remains patient.

“I tried healing him.” The angel says after another borderline unbearable moment, staring Sam right in the face and getting the hopeful expression he was expecting. It hurt to see, really. Because in Sam’s angry, pressured hues, a sliver of expectation shines through. So faint, yet so prominent. He’s asking if Dean’s going to wake up soon without any words; he’s  _ betting  _ on it. And all that─that little glimmer, that  _ hope─ _ flushes right down the goddamn drain the moment Castiel looks off to the side, the gentlest shake of his head following the guilt in those blue, blue irises.

Sam’s lips purse. His skin evens out on his face, looking at Cass blankly before he, too, turns away and sticks his head right back into his book.

He’ll keep fucking searching for a goddamn cure. He’s  _ not  _ giving up on Dean. No way in hell will he  _ ever  _ give up on his strong, courageous, heroic big brother.

And Castiel remains, watching idly as he does just that. He can sense the anger returning, overpowering what was once eagerness, hankering. The guilt itches at the back of his skull, but the angel ignores it. He knows this isn’t his fault. It isn’t Sam’s either, although he can tell that his charge thinks the exact opposite.

He lingers for only a moment longer before pushing out of his seat and walking away. But not before going up to Sam and squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. Of course, the young hunter doesn’t react. The bitterness; it consumes him.

Castiel understands. Painfully so. And he pats Sam’s shoulder just one more time before he’s gone.


	3. Episode 3: Too Damn Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings - None! Just some talk and a sprinkle of angst.  
> Addressing to everyone - Stay home! Be safe! This COVID-19 outbreak is wild and stressful, I know, but please, for your sake, stay indoors!

**\---------------------------------**

**Episode 3: Too Damn Good**

**\---------------------------------**

“I thought you didn’t eat.”

Ah, Dean’s first slip-up of the day. Well, third slip-up, but the ones at home didn’t count, shut up.

Castiel had driven them to the place where they apparently work together, arriving half an hour prior. They were apparently _writers_ , co-authoring a book on supernatural fantasies (the second Cass had mentioned it the distasteful thought of Chuck came into Dean’s head; it’s like the bastard was writing fanfiction of him, but… it _wasn’t_ fanfiction because it was _real_ , and that made Dean even more sick). Dean had tried to joke that they were making a _Twilight_ fanfiction, but Castiel only sent him a barely heated glare and continued checking the dashboard clock like his life depended on it. He constantly muttered under his breath, lightheartedly, that if his lunch break was wasted, it would be on Dean, and therefore he had to pay him back in cash or takeout. The blonde just went along with it, although the idea of Castiel caring about lunch when he didn’t even _eat_ sat itching at the back of his head. He brushed it off though; it wasn’t that big of a show. It’s not like it would be the first time he’s seen the angel gorge himself anyway (even though those times were only when he _literally_ could not resist).

It was only when Dean sat down across from Cass in the break room, ready to talk about their book and get answers as discreetly as possible, that he realized Cass _wasn’t_ joking. He… really _did_ care about that lunch break. And here he is now, proving that further by munching on rabbit food right in front of him as if it’s a normal everyday thing (which, you may say it is, but no the hell it is _not_. You eat _real_ food every day, not… leaves for animals, dammit).

Castiel stops chewing abruptly, staring into his salad container as Dean watches expectantly. He would’ve laughed at the awkward pause if the angel hadn’t looked up at him immediately, genuine concern in his eyes. “Did you wake up upside down?” He asks. Dean blinks a handful of times, tongue clicking against his teeth as he sits there, slightly shocked, mouth open just a crack while attempting to find a quick answer.

Luckily, Cass has more to add on, shutting the Winchester up before he could pour out terrible, _terrible_ excuses. “Dean, of course I eat. Am I not a human being?”

And somehow, that doesn’t simmer the hunter’s surprise. Since the fuck when was Castiel ever human other than that one time? His grace was restored, he was… mostly _him_ again. But Dean can’t find any courage to say that, the words knots in his throat rather than… well, _words_.

He really shouldn’t be surprised, he realizes. Sam has Jess, Dean is rich─there’s so much different about this life that isn’t his that it should only be expected that Castiel would change as well. But that didn’t stop Dean’s brain from registering him as “angel best friend” anyhow.

Finally finding his voice, the blonde relaxes minutely in his seat, saying (stuttering, more like), “I’m─yeah. Yeah, you’re right, man. Sorry. I think I’m just out of it today.”

“Clearly.” Castiel sneers, but there’s still no heat. It just seems like this Cass, Dean’s _Not_ -Cass, is naturally aggressive. And the hunter finds himself having mixed feelings on that. On one hand, you have a Cass that can take jokes─hell, even _understands_ them. But on the other hand, you have a douche. A good-hearted douche, but still a douche. _Dean’s_ Cass was never a douche. Only when he was making an effort to save the world, maybe, but in the end it was all for him and Sam. He crossed his heart and… _died_ for that cause. More than once.

 _I’m hunted, I’ve rebelled, and I did it─_ all _of it─for_ you _._

Castiel goes back to eating, leaving Dean to do nothing but look around the room they’re in. It’s a standard break area; vending machine, fridge, drawers, a couch, a TV. It would’ve been considered cozy if the lights weren’t so dull and the first thing you scream when you come into the room is “BORING.”

“Can you hurry your ass?” Dean complains eventually, no longer able to stare at the clock and watch the hands tick as his brain deteriorates. “We have a book to write, do we not?”

Castiel rolls his eyes, taking the last bite of his lunch and wiping his mouth with a napkin so sickeningly polite. Like a damn… _rich_ person. “I can never catch a break with you.” He shakes his head, earning a scoff from the just as sassy Winchester. “It’s what you signed up for being friends with me.”

“Then I’d like to take that contract down.”

“Hey!”

\---

Sam didn’t want to wake up the moment his head hit the pillow at exactly 3:41 that morning. He wanted to sink into the sheets, have a good dream, and possibly be able to connect with Dean’s mind to fish him out of his coma. He wanted to see his brother, awake, and if he couldn’t have that, then Sam didn’t want to open his eyes either. He knew it was selfish, but doesn’t he deserve that every once in a while? To selfishly love his big brother and selfishly want to never be awake as long as Dean isn’t? He needed Dean _here_ , to laugh at him and make fun of him, complain about research and demand pie at every turn. He needed that because, otherwise, this bunker meant nothing to him but empty space.

So when his alarm rang at exactly 6 A.M. just beside his hung head, Sam ignored it. His eyes opened, yes, but he didn’t move. He lay there on his bed, frozen, staring into space while stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the responsibilities looming above him, attempting to coax him, _challenge_ him, to get up and face reality.

\---

It’s 8:07 when Sam finally comes out of his room. He’s… seen better days, to say the least. His hair is frizzy and uneven, some lone strands hanging over his face just barely. The eye bags are prominent on his pale skin, as well as the weakness in his hung arms and slight slouch. If the look is a surprise to Castiel when he comes into the kitchen for a coffee, he doesn’t show it. Instead, the angel sits at the table, letting the silence prolong until the younger Winchester is sitting across from him, staring into his boiling hot mug rather than drinking it.

“I’ve decided I’m going to start my search around the world today.” He says. Sam looks up, confused hazel meeting sincere blue.

“Around the world?” The hunter parrots, brows furrowing.

“Yes.” The word is let out in a sigh, like Castiel is just _waiting_ for a protest. Which is exactly what he gets.

“What? Cass, no! you’re needed _here_.”

“We agreed last night that I would go.”

“I was out of my head last night!” Sam snaps, arm thrown out impulsively. Castiel purses his lips.

They stare at each other, the barely calm silence being overtaken by tension instantly. Sam is first to look away though, sharing a sigh of his own. His eyes dart around the table as if he’s physically looking for an answer. “Besides,” he continues after a moment, “how are you going to search the entire world? Cass, you don’t have your wings. It’d be hopeless.”

“I can drive.”

“Around the entire _world?_ That… that takes forever!”

“Not if I don’t stop.”

“But you _will,_ that’s the thing! You may not need a bathroom break or food, but refilling _gas_ exists. Checking in on me and _Dean_ exists. Just─just _acknowledge_ the in-betweens, man!”

Silence falls once more, Castiel now being the one to drop his gaze. Sam is right, he knows, but they’re still both equally desperate to find a cure and get Dean _back_. It’s not a shocker that if Sam was in his shoes at this very moment, he would’ve glossed over the in-betweens too. All that mattered was _Dean_. At least they could agree on that if not anything else.

“Okay.” Castiel breathes. “Then what do you suppose we do?”

Sam looks back into his coffee, at his disastrous reflection in the beverage. “I don’t know.” He confesses. “But we’ll figure it out.”

It would’ve felt more confident if both parties didn’t know that’s what _Dean_ always said.

\---

After freshening himself up with a shower and changing into clothes that didn’t reek of late-night worries, Sam makes his way to Dean’s room, where his unconscious brother lies still on his bed. Sam wants to be in here 24/7, he’ll admit, but, _goddammit_ , it looks like Dean is _dead_. Even from the doorway you wouldn’t be able to tell if he was still breathing, and every damn time the younger Winchester stepped foot into the place, it just… overwhelmed him. Because Dean’s room is decorated with all his beloved albums, his weapons. Hell, even the porn he thinks he hides well when really they’re stacked on his desk shamelessly. The room is constantly so _alive_ , so _Dean_ , and to have that combined with the fact that the very owner of this room isn’t awake to admire it… It almost had enough juice to push Sam to the brink. Almost.

He takes the chair resting by Dean’s desk and carries it over to the side of his bed, sitting in it and clasping his hands together, elbows on knees. For a moment, he just stays there, silent, watching the rise and fall of his big brother’s chest, ever slowly, ever shallowly. The sight clutches Sam’s heart too, _too_ tight, but it’s better to know he’s still breathing than to crumble thinking he isn’t.

Eventually his hazel eyes draw up to Dean’s neck, where the prominent blue veins are still as vibrant as ever. He can see the pulse in them, the sapphire luminescence shining with each passing blood cell. It’s gross watching it. Gross knowing that this happened because of a stupid djinn. Gross because Sam let that djinn slip, let that goddamn monster wisp around his brother and take him away, stash him into his own mind, leaving him vulnerable and his family on the brink of _grieving_.

Sam knows that if Dean were awake he’d huff, amused at his baby brother’s panic, and say, “Quit worrying ‘bout it, man. Don’t I look okay?” and Sam would be _so close_ to saying, “No, you look like trash.” until Dean would cut him off and add, “Besides, it’s my job to do the worrying for the both of us. My job is _you_. Not the other way around.”

And then an argument would ensue.

 _Dean,_ your _job is to take care of yourself_ and _me! And_ my _job is to take care of myself_ and _you! Because that’s what brothers_ do! _That’s what_ we _do!_

 _Okay, fine, maybe you’re right. But that doesn’t stop me from putting you before me. You’ve always been number one, Sam._ Always! _And I’m not going to drop you down to number 2─hell, not even to_ 1.5! _─just so I can be selfish._

 _Self care_ isn’t _selfish!_

_You know what? Drop it. Let’s talk about this later._

_I─_

_Later!_

Sam inhales sharply, his head hanging low on his shoulders. It was always a competition, their arguments. Who had the privilege of protecting the other more; who _always_ protected the other more; how both of them deserved to protect each other point-and-final. Dean never did stop saying that his one job─his one job that would always, _always_ matter in the endgame─was to protect his baby brother. He was a preacher to that cause, and Sam was the deaf man who never participated in the crowd.

“My one job is to protect you too.” He mutters to Dean, even though he knows the other can’t hear him. His hand reaches out to his big brother’s, clutching it like a lifeline. “And I’m going to protect you. I’m _going_ to save you, like you did for me countless times. I owe you that. I owe you _everything_.”

His voice is cracking by the end, but he ignores it. He ignores the burn behind his eyes too, keeping Dean’s hand in his for a moment longer, clenching just a little bit tighter, before releasing and walking right out, not even looking back.

\---

“How’s Sam?”

Dean looks up from his brainstorming pad, pen not even having touched the paper. He’s been here for roughly an hour now, in his and Cass’s office, doing absolutely nothing but spacing out. This job… It’s boring as _hell_. Who can actually sit on their ass for hours and write up shit? Certainly not Dean. He is _far_ from the creative type.

“What?” He asks, squinting at his best friend, who has his legs propped up on his desk across the room, looking all too relaxed and brainstorming pad already half-full.

“How’s Sam?” Castiel repeats, turning his head to meet his eyes. He’s wearing glasses, the nerd, the lenses making his eyes look bigger on his face than they are. It’s damn laugh-worthy, if you asked Dean, but he doesn’t react to it. The last time he did Castiel backhanded him and the hit to his head is still numbing even now.

“Uhh… Well, we talked earlier. He said he was in the middle of a Netflix marathon with Jess, so… I assume he’s good.”

Castiel hums. “And your parents?”

Dean’s brows furrow. “What about my parents?”

“How are _they,_ fool?”

 _Uh, well,_ dead, _I suppose,_ Dean thinks, suddenly bitter. How could Cass just bring up dead family members so casually and expect Dean to take it like a champ? Obviously he will, because he’s _Dean,_ but… Still. Dick move. “I… don’t know.”

It goes quiet for a minute, before Cass sighs and straightens himself in his seat. “I know it’s been hard hearing about your father’s heart attack,” He says, tone softer, sincere, to which Dean leans back in confusion. _Excuse me? John didn’t have a heart attack, he died by_ Azazel, _point-and-final,_ “and you can always talk to me about it. But why not reach out to Mary? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

Mary? As in… Dean’s _mom_ Mary? But─… she’s dead too. Unless… unless this wacko world has them, Mary _and_ John, _both_ , _alive_ …

Dean doesn’t feel his arm move into his pocket and retrieve his phone, doesn’t feel his fingers swiping open the lock screen, doesn’t notice the scrolling of contacts, doesn't realize the device against his ear, until there’s a voice on the other end of the line. A voice so _motherly_ and… _Mary_.

“Mom?” It’s a whisper. A soft, disbelieving, whisper.

Castiel turns away, giving Dean the privacy he needs, as Mary replies, “Dean?”

“M-Mom, is… is that you?”

“Of course it is. Are you alright? You sound like you’ve seen a ghost.”

 _I’m speaking to one right now,_ Dean thinks.

For a while, it’s silent. So many surprises today, Dean’s barely keeping up. First, he’s a wealthy author, second, his baby brother is married to the girl of his dreams, third, Castiel is a human who eats, and fourth: his mother is _alive_ , _speaking_ to him right now. It’s… overwhelming. Too much good. Too much goddamn good. Dean doesn’t deserve this; he doesn’t _want_ this. Because with… with every damn _good_ moment in his life, it all comes crashing down. It’s just a matter of time until this one does too, and that’s just the life of a hunter. A _Winchester._

The blonde doesn’t realize Mary is calling for him until she’s raising her voice. “Huh? Oh, sorry, I’m just─there’s a lot on my mind. H─How’s dad?”

Now it’s Mary’s turn to pause. “He’s… recovering. The doctors don’t know when he’ll be out, but I’m hoping it’s soon. It hurts being here, watching him look so dull and lifeless.” 

Dean gulps. “Yeah… yeah, I know. Sorry for asking.”

“It’s alright. How’s that story of yours going?”

“Uh─uh, great, yeah. Me and Cass are looking forward to publishing it as soon as we can.”

“Can’t wait to read it.”

A ghost of a smile appears on Dean’s face. “You always were my biggest fan.”

“And I’ll never stop.”

A feelgood silence is shared, before Mary finishes, “The doctor is here, Dean. I need to go. I’ll call you soon.” And then she’s gone.

\---

“Are you out of your mind?” Castiel looks down at Sam, arms propping him up on the desk as the young hunter keeps his eyes glued to a page in a useless book. “Bringing Rowena to watch over Dean? Alone? Tell me you’re joking.”

“We don’t have any other choices!” Sam defends, finally tearing his gaze from the same word he’s been reading over and over since this argument started.

“Yes, we do! Our _other_ option is to let me travel by myself, take what I can, and then come back! Not me and you buddying up and leaving a _witch_ to watch over _your_ brother, _my_ charge! Sam, this is irrational!” The angel straightens his posture, arms now thrown out to either side. “We don’t know what Rowena could do. She _deceives,_ Sam. She can’t be trusted in a bunker with all sorts of information. Information she could _steal_ , and we wouldn’t be aware until we need it!”

Sam is silent, jaw clenched tight. His teeth ache, begging for release, but he keeps himself still, stubbornness far too powerful.

“It’d be better if two people were out there searching for cures, Cass. A single person will take ages trying to grab at things! If we have two, at least we can pick up the pace just a pinch!” The young hunter attempts to reason, but Castiel isn’t having it.

“No. _No._ It’s either I’m going alone, or _you’re_ going alone. And I’m not letting the latter happen! Rowena stays _out_ of this. One of us is staying here with Dean, or we’re not going to get anything done.”

“This is a team effort, Cass!”

“Exactly my point! One of us stays, the other one goes and calls when they can, informs them of what they’ve found, and vice versa! That _is_ a team effort!”

Sam slams the book in his arms shut, tossing it onto the table carelessly. He rubs at his face, at his eye bags, scrubs his hair. Castiel watches, challenging the hunter to continue his protests with a sharp look. They are _not_ allowing a deceptive witch to watch over their family with no one able to watch over _her_. It’s just not happening. Castiel won’t let it. He might as well be as bad as Lucifer if he so much as _considers_ it, for Christ's sake.

“Sam, I get it. You want to get some action. You _need_ the action, if only to distract yourself from Dean’s condition for, at _most_ , an hour. But you _have_ to come to terms with the fact that the sole reason we’re taking _any_ action is _because_ of Dean! Because we are _fighting_ , we are losing ourselves, and we are _dying_ , trying to get Dean back. This is all for him! And if Dean were in our shoes, if he were desperate to get out into action to get _us_ back, do you think he’d team up with an enemy to do it? That is his last resort. Very, _very_ last. And us? We’re not down that low yet, Sam! We have this option. We have this one, _singular_ option that might just work. And we’re going to take it.”

Silence. Silence that lasts so long that Castiel almost believes he’s won this argument, up until he hears Sam shift in his spot and look him right in the eye.

“How are we going to keep him fed? We don’t have medical equipment, Cass.”

“Then we bring him to the hospital. One of us is still staying. Point and final.”

Sam’s fists clench on the desk, and Castiel sighs. “This conversation is _over_ , Sam. One of us is staying while the other searches.”

“Fine.” The young hunter stands up from his seat. “I’m going to check on Dean.”

The angel watches the brunette stalk away, into the hall to be with his comatose brother. His hardened facade drops, and he lets out another long, slightly wavering, breath.

\---

Sam’s seat hasn’t been moved since the last time he was here. He’s thankful for it, really. Moving things around seems like too big a chore, no matter how simple a task moving a chair back and forth is. He has no more energy; he’s so damn close to just passing out, sitting right there beside his big brother. Maybe even fall into a coma too, but… no. He can’t do that. Not to Cass, not to himself, and not to _Dean_ , most of all. Dean would’ve kept fighting to get Sam awake if the roles were reversed. He would’ve never slept, never begged to join him in his La-La-Land. He would’ve striven for the both of them, would’ve _figured it out._

And Sam almost feels ashamed just wanting to spend time with him again, physically awake or not. And it hasn’t even been 24 hours since this all started.

Sam shifts in his seat, trying to get comfortable as his eyes fall onto Dean’s face. This is the first time he’s looked─ _seriously_ looked─at his brother’s features all day. He looks so… peaceful. It hurts realizing that this sight is so, _so_ rare when Dean _is_ awake. He’s always too busy wearing a scowl or a furrowed brow or a frown that there’s never room for relaxation to just… _settle_. He always said relaxation was a luxury hunters couldn’t afford. Not actual, _lasting_ relaxation, anyway. The only peace they’ll ever find is when they’re finally wiped off the earth either by a hunt gone wrong or by natural causes. Which was unlikely, he’d added, because everything about this life is never going to get anywhere _close_ to natural. Not to everyone else in the world, anyway.

And because of those words─those very words from a brother who was awake and kicking, the very same brother who is now comatose and unresponsive─Sam, for only a moment, accepts that at least one good thing is coming out of this whole catastrophe: that Dean looks peaceful, and content, and _easy_. It’s always what the older Winchester wanted for his baby brother, but, little did he know, Sam wanted the exact same thing for _him_. And here he is, having it, and the young hunter couldn’t do anything about it other than just… accept it for what it is. Dean is gone until he isn’t, point and final.

“We’re gonna bring you to a hospital tomorrow, okay, man? Me and Cass, we’ll─we’ll drive you to the nearest one, get you your own room so you can be fed and hydrated in private. And after that’s done, Cass─” a hesitant pause. “… Cass and _I_ will be going on a road trip. Not a fun one, though. We’ll be looking for cures for you, so you can wake up and… and so I can finally know for sure that you’re alright. Okay? Don’t… don’t die on me while I’m dying to help _you_ not die. Promise me that.”

There’s no response, but the silence is as good an understanding as any.

He slowly gets up from his chair, scrubbing his head roughly, messing up his hair. God, what time is it? He’s so exhausted. It must be late; he should head to bed soon.

The young hunter trudges to his room all the way on the other side, closing the door behind him and breathing in slow.

He falls onto his bed, not even bothering to change into more sleep-appropriate attire as he lay still, arms around his pillow like a lifeline.

Silence falls into the room, nothing but Sam’s shallow breathing bouncing off the walls.

He tries to replicate the peace he saw on Dean’s face for himself, just to get him through the night, but I suppose it only works if you’re unconscious. The brunette can’t even push a _sliver_ of peace into his brain, much less realize it exists. He tosses, he turns, and then, so, _so_ suddenly, his phone is pressed to his ear and the device is ringing.

\---

Away in New York, Rowena sits in a fancy restaurant, sipping wine with her fifth boy-toy fiance. He’s ratty, to put it nicely. A man who can’t keep it in his pants. She’s ignored the three times he’s cheated within their month-long engagement already; after all, Rowena was only in it for the money. Why not let the sorry excuse of a man think he’s worth it?

She’s pretending to enjoy the night as best she can, fake smile plastered and all. It’s convincing enough that her wench of a fiance doesn’t so much as question it, but he's always been the thick-headed type, hasn't he? Ah, how much of a nuisance he is. But going through pain is the price for power, Rowena reminds herself. Just marry him, stay for two more years, then the money is all hers.

The witch is about to order herself another glass of wine just as her phone vibrates within her tiny purse. She places her glass down in slight annoyance, fishing the device out and being surprised by the person calling.

For the first time that night her smile is genuine, and the mischievous woman answers right away.

“Samuel Winchester. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Rowena,” Sam breathes on the other end of the line, “I need you to do me a favor.”


	4. Episode 4: Road Trip!...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings - Uh-oh! Sam and Castiel get into a fight! Poor boys just trying to do the best they can for Dean. And, speaking of Dean, his crisis is still ongoing! Overall just a frustrating chapter. [ Angry emoji ]
> 
> Quality Warning - I was a little out of it writing this chapter (seeing as i started it at 10pm Monday and wrote the first few pages all the way till midnight) so I didn't thoroughly read over it and make sure it's par for the course. Sorry!
> 
> P.S. this chapter is a couple hundred words short, and I’m sorry in advance! Writing can be tiring (sue me) but also I kinda like the gentle end.
> 
> P.P.S. I am *so* sorry for the delay! My computer went all funky to the point where I couldn't open Chrome even though I restarted and attempted to open it millions of times. Luckily the problem has since been fixed and I can finally post this chapter!
> 
> P.P.P.S. With this whole pandemic, most states (if not all) in America have had the school systems switch to online sessions, mine included. That being said, I do not know if I'll be able to upload episode five this Saturday. I might have to switch to every other week uploads, but we'll see! Okay, now I'm really done with all these P.S.'s. Enjoy!!

**\---------------------------------**

**Episode 4: Road Trip!**

**\---------------------------------**

“Sam, we should get going.” Castiel suggests, standing from his seat in the library the next day. If he noticed the unusual quiet from the youngest Winchester, the angel didn’t touch on it. It’s not like no coherent response wasn’t expected, plus the fact that Sam was the reserved type; saved his words unlike Dean. But at least he still  _ talked _ ─more than  _ this, _ at least.

The brunette doesn’t give so much as a grunt in response, lifting himself from his own seat across from his celestial companion and making his way into the bedroom hall. Castiel is still waiting, watching the entrance with an eagle eye, until Sam returns with─a still very much unconscious─Dean in his arms, the keys to the Impala dangling dangerously at the tip of his right index finger. He has his older brother in a bridal carry like how he’d last had him, adjusting Dean’s weight in his hold before walking up to Castiel in slow, borderline apprehensive, strides. As if Dean would be waking up any time soon.

Not that that would be a problem. Sam and Castiel both wished nothing more than for Dean to awaken from something as simple as being carried the wrong way, like it was that simple and they were just overthinking all along.

God, that would’ve been a  _ miracle. _ Shame that they were never graced with such things often.

“Do you need help?” Castiel offers, a hand already instinctually reaching out to either take on Dean’s weight himself or to simply just snag the keys from Sam’s trembling finger. The brunette shakes his head in reply, but the angel is already slipping the keys from Sam anyway, beginning their slow walk up the entrance stairs of the bunker.

Sam has to walk extra slow, way slower than Castiel is already being, having to stride almost like a crab so as to not accidentally hit Dean’s head against the metal railing he’s already been so dangerously close to colliding with multiple times. It would’ve almost been funny─funny enough to laugh at─if the damn feel radiating from all three men wasn’t so… shrouded in depression. And worry. Plus the fact Dean’s vibrant blue veins, still as clear as day on his neck, chin and jawline, were ever the most unpleasant. It’s hard to look at, even for Sam and Cass, considering all that they’ve seen in their fucked up lives.

It’s a struggle, a damn horrible one, but the two conscious men finally exit the bunker, just  _ barely  _ managing to slip through the door without banging Dean’s poor skull against it. And, even though it’s unnecessary, Castiel continues his role as a guide for Sam, all the way to the Impala already parked outside just for convenience. And, by convenience, I mean Sam was  _ maybe  _ too lazy in parking the car back in the garage, a little tidbit Dean would sure be infuriated at him about if he were awake, leaving Baby so vulnerable like that, but it’s not like he’s going to find out. He hopes not, anyway.

Castiel unlocks the car with the keys he took from Sam, opening the back door and watching as the youngest Winchester slides his older brother along the seat. It’s a painful callback to the night they first did this, the trio covered in blood and dust and dirt, Dean freshly knocked out, Sam’s panic shown through the anger still very much flared because of the djinn who started it all, and Castiel himself just plain fearful for Dean’s life. At least it’s more silent this time around, although the angel can’t say he’s exactly content with that little factor. He’d much prefer to be hearing Sam curse under his breath, even huff desperately just as he had before due to the lack of air in his surely burning lungs, but… apparently no. It’s not what he’s got. Sam never muttered a word as he was walking up the steps to get Dean and himself out of the bunker. He was completely silent aside from the rare huff or grunt that emitted only when Dean was close to hitting something.

It was almost torture, really. But it’s not like Castiel’s exactly been vocal either. Ever since his and Sam’s argument the night before, they hadn’t talked much. The angel is sure there’s no grudge held by Sam─surely not by Castiel either; there isn’t a point─but he’d never really gotten to having an actual talk with the brunette, and right now a conversation isn’t his top priority anyway. Getting Dean to the hospital and starting his travel around the world is.

That’s the whole reason they’re doing this, taking Dean to the hospital. Both Cass and Sam knew the older Winchester would’ve profusely rejected the idea if he were conscious, even if deep down he knew it was best, but because Sam wouldn’t be able to feed him anything, keep him hydrated, and Castiel would be travelling all sorts of new places, it wouldn’t be possible for them to keep Dean at the bunker. Even if it’s the only place they truly trusted.

Once Dean is finally settled, Castiel is about to throw the keys at Sam so he can start the car, only to be stopped as he catches the look of realization in the young hunter’s eye.

“I almost forgot.” He breathes, the first words he’s said in the last few hours, before running back to the entrance of the bunker, disappearing behind the heavy door and leaving a very much confused Castiel behind. 

Even out in the sunlight, at a time humans are usually out and about, it’s a deafening silence surrounding Castiel. He waits, patiently, for Sam’s return, in the meantime peeking into the now closed back door, looking over Dean’s unconscious figure lied out and completely limp. It makes him frown, the sight. The angel can’t recall a time where he’s seen Dean completely unmoving, excluding that one time he had walked in on the older hunter so focused on a show that even his blood cells seemed to halt. Castiel hadn’t even managed to say what he needed to that day; Dean shut him up and sent him out before his mouth even opened. “Tell me when I’m out,” he’d demanded, and, with how long he’s known him, you couldn’t blame the angel for rolling his eyes and sighing, trudging out the hunter’s room and silently ranting about complicated human friends.

It’s another heartbeat until Sam is back, carrying two bags. One a duffle and the other just a plain satchel. Castiel doesn’t hide the curious squint of his eyes. “Why so much?” He asks as the hunter makes his way to the trunk. He gestures for the keys in Castiel’s hands and the angel gives, watching as he opens the trunk and stuffs the items inside.

“For you.” Sam finally answers, though it’s not very helpful. The brunette makes his way back to the driver’s side, waving Castiel off to the passenger's seat, who follows that command too.

“Why?” The angel questions further, curiosity still plastered even as he’s slipping into the vehicle with Sam. The brunette starts the car, riding off after adjusting the rear view mirror to focus on Dean in the back.

“I’m pretty sure whatever you’re going to be looking for isn’t going to be easy to get, so I packed you some weapons and lore books.” Sam finally explains once they reach the main road. However, it doesn’t seem to ease Castiel’s confusion. “I don’t need those weapons, Sam. I have my angel blade and I know all that I do about Earth.” He counters.

“You can never be too sure.” Is Sam’s reply, and Castiel drops it at that with a low, unneeded, exhale.

\---

Castiel’s going to hate him, at the very least be  _ infuriated  _ with him, Sam knows. He was already under the angel’s suspicion radar when he offered to drive them to the hospital. “I can drive, Sam.” Castiel had said, which Sam countered with a “You can drive, but you won’t be able to talk to the staff once you get there.” And he knew he’d been right when Castiel only pursed his lips and said nothing back.

But now he knew that bringing these bags along was more suspicious. He knew Cass wouldn’t need the weapons, the lore books. It was all for him. He was going with the angel on this road trip no matter what, and, if he’d managed to get this far without Castiel asking too much, he knew he was winning. He’d just have to make sure to apologize profusely by the end of it all.

They make it to the hospital in under twenty minutes─thanks to Sam maybe pushing the speed limit just a little too far─parking the vehicle in the spot closest to the hospital entrance that he could get. He and Castiel slide out of their seats, into the open. The angel waits as Sam pulls Dean from the back, hoisting his unconscious brother into his arms and proceeding to step inside the hospital.

It takes some cheap explaining and a dash of convincing until Dean is assured to have a room immediately, his limp body being taken away from Sam’s hold upon instruction. They’re told to wait for a bit as they set him up, leaving the hunter-angel pair to take the opportunity and sit down in the waiting room until they’re told they can come in.

Sam is just  _ itching  _ to pull out his phone, check for any texts from Rowena in case she was going to inform him she was almost here. And it’s during that pensive moment that Castiel finally speaks up, fixing his posture in his seat as he looks down at Sam intently.

“You know I’m going to be leaving today.” He says.

“Yes.” Sam responds instantly; he’d been anticipating this talk as much as he has Rowena’s text.

“And you also know that you’re to stay here and watch over Dean.”

“Yes.” The word is more hesitant now, but he prays Castiel doesn’t notice.

The angel pauses. Sam can see him roll his shoulder stiffly from the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry to have done this to you.” He finally adds. “I know you’re just as desperate to find a cure for Dean─we’re both equally worked up about it. But you understand that I can’t risk losing you too.”

Sam can’t help the bitter scoff that leaves him. “You say that like he’s dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

And then it falls silent.

\---

Castiel is boiling. The skin that isn’t his is tight around his grace, leaving no room for calm as he stands there in Dean’s hospital room, staring Rowena down with eyes full of fire. He can hear the breath hitching in Sam’s throat from behind him, can hear the pleasant hum from Rowena before him. It doesn’t simmer his anger.

He  _ knew  _ Sam was up to something. He  _ knew! _ The offering to drive was a dead giveaway, right from the start, but Castiel simply overlooked it because he trusted in Sam’s rationality enough to assure himself that the young hunter wouldn’t  _ do  _ this! That he wouldn’t confide in a  _ witch  _ to watch over their fallen family member and that be it!

Castiel never knew he could feel so much anger─and  _ betrayal _ , even.

He stays frozen in place even as Rowena lets herself in, placing her bag down in the chair Sam had recently occupied and taking the seat beside it.

The tension in the air is far too thick, no one speaking, no one moving. The only sound is Dean’s heart monitor, beeping with every steady beat, but it’s drowned out by Castiel’s swarming thoughts. Impulsively, he turns, blue eyes boring into Sam’s panicked hazels. He still doesn’t let a noise slip, not even a growl. His stare does enough, it seems, as Sam refuses to do anything as long as those eyes are on him.

Another long, painful minute, filled with silent screams and just─ _ anger, _ until the angel sharply turns on his heels and marches right out of that room.

He can hear Sam running after him instantly, calling his name down the hall, and it only infuriates him more that the hunter  _ actually  _ left Rowena with Dean. Like she  _ isn’t  _ a witch and is instead a friend whom they trust! What a real laugh that would’ve won out of Castiel if it weren’t damn  _ reality. _

Sam manages to catch up to him quickly (curse his long legs), grabbing Castiel by his shoulder only to be rudely shrugged off. Still, the brunette continues calling the angel’s name, all the way back outside, into the Impala, where Castiel is now the one driving, having taken the keys from Sam without so much as a simple ask.

Just as the young hunter is about to continue his pleas after a deep, much needed breath, Castiel snaps, “Why?” And that seems like just the trick in shutting the other up.

The angel doesn’t allow another second of silence. “ _ Why, _ Sam?” He repeats, harsher this time. His voice is a twinge too gravelly thanks to the anger still unrelenting underneath his skin. He can see the brunette choking up beside him, jaw clenched and Adam’s apple bobbing nervously and all.

“Because I want to help.” Is the reply that eventually comes.

“I don’t  _ need  _ the help!”

“You don’t know that!” Sam adjusts himself in his seat, sitting straighter with his hands flailing in frantic gesticulations. “You don’t know that,” he repeats, voice more leveled now, “not for sure.”

“You promised me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“But you agreed with me all the same!”

“Okay, yes. I did, alright? And I’m sorry, but─just─can you listen?”

No. No, Castiel can’t. He doesn’t  _ want  _ to listen.

Sam sighs. “Look, okay, I… I know this is selfish of me. Alright? I know. But, I just… you never gave me the option of coming with you.”

“I didn’t want you to.”

“You didn’t even consider the idea of letting me be the one to do this.”

“ _ I didn’t want you to! _ ”

“I know! I know, okay? But─that doesn’t stop me from feeling so caged. Like I’m not even allowed to save my own  _ brother. _ Cass, you know I owe him everything. And so do I! So, to just sit here, watch my best friend go off and fend for himself around the entire  _ world? _ While I’m stuck here with an unconscious Dean that I know I can’t do anything for because you won’t  _ let  _ me? I can’t deal. I just…  _ can’t. _ ”

Silence. Castiel can’t admit he understands, not when his anger is just now winding down barely even a notch.

Another sigh. “You know, you’re being Dean right now. Treating me like a kid, like I can’t do any of the heavy lifting because I’m in need of protection. Do you know how that feels? To be the one with constant eagle eyes on you when in reality your  _ protector  _ is the one that needs to watch out for  _ themselves? _ It’s so…  _ frustrating. _ You should’ve been worrying about yourself, how you’re going to deal with this around-the-world disaster adventure, and Dean. Not about me. I should’ve been your least concern.”

“You and Dean are equally the most important things to me.” Castiel finally breaks his own silence, jaw still considerably tight. Almost like it was a struggle to get the words out. “I understand where you’re coming from, I do. But you have to see from my point of view too. We’re on the same page, Sam. I can’t lose my family. I can’t lose you both. Not if I can help it. And for you to just─call in a  _ witch  _ to watch over Dean like that? After I warned you of what could happen? Sam, do you know how angry that makes me? How you blatantly just…  _ betrayed  _ me?  _ And  _ my trust?”

“Cass…” But nothing follows. Only silence.

The angel makes a turn, and the conversation ends.

\---

Dean has officially come to the conclusion that he does not like this life.

From the fancy way of living to douchebag best friends, it’s simply just not a world fit for the hunter. Hell, can he even call himself that now? A hunter? Probably not. Not here. Which only makes him feel more out of place. Because he was  _ raised  _ as one, more or less  _ born  _ as one. He never tasted luxury like this before, not even  _ once  _ in his real life, where he had his brother genuinely happy, where his best friend was genuinely happy, where  _ he  _ was genuinely happy. It just… wasn’t his world, and, although he was content seeing his family smile more often than they ever did in reality, Dean really couldn’t wish for anything more than what they had. Because they had each other, and that was what kept them going all these years.

But… here? They didn’t need each other as much as they actually do. Or did. Or whatever. Which Dean supposes should be a good thing─no more borderline toxic codependency─but that didn’t make this life any less bad.

He just wanted to make sure Sam and Cass─ _ his _ Sam and Cass─were okay.

“Eyes up, Winchester. You’re spacing out.” Castiel shakes the blonde by his shoulder.

“Wh─huh?” Dean quickly comes to his senses, jolting in his chair to sit straight. “Oh, sorry.”

Castiel’s brow perks as he leans away, crossing his arms over his chest comfortably. “Something on your mind?”

“Uh… just… Sam, yeah.”

“He in trouble?”

“No,”  _ I hope not, at least, _ “just wondering how he’s doing.”

“I thought you spoke to him yesterday?”

“I did, but… you know. I  _ am  _ his big brother.”

“Mother hen, more like. I never knew you were so protective of him.”

“Shut up.”

“Wanna go out? Clear your head from whatever it is you’re brooding over? Work is almost done, I’m sure we can leave a minute or two early.” Castiel offers. Dean looks up to find just a hint of concern in the angel’s─er, other man’s eyes, making him smile the littlest of smiles. “Yeah, sure.” He nods, getting up as he begins to pack his stuff.

Castiel does the same, leaving the blonde’s side to collect things from his desk, bringing it all into his bag neatly unlike Dean, who just shoves whatever he thinks he needs into his own satchel.

“Ready to go?” The sweater vest-wearing ravenette calls after another minute, watching Dean sling his bag strap over his shoulder and nod once more.

“Which car are we using?” Dean asks as they enter the elevators. “I’m not leaving my Baby behind.”

“Then you have your answer, don’t you?” Castiel replies bluntly. Dean rolls his eyes.

They make it to the garage, Dean trying not to make a big deal about how much he’s missed his Impala since it’s only been a few hours (still, a few hours from Baby is  _ torture _ ). He pulls out his car keys with ease, unlocking the vehicle and slipping into the driver’s seat so naturally. Castiel follows suit on the passenger’s side, putting his stuff in the backseat just like Dean did.

“You got any places in mind?” Dean asks, glancing at Castiel with a perked eyebrow.

“I heard a new Chinese buffet opened recently. It’s not too far, maybe a ten, fifteen minute drive. We can go there if you want.” Castiel suggests.

“Oooh, just what I’ve been craving.” Dean hums approvingly, pulling out of his parking space and off they go.

\---

“Are you going to continue giving your food death glares or are you going to talk to me?” Castiel pesters. Dean finally tears his eyes from his untouched food and up to his best friend, sighing heavily and catching his head in his palm. “Sorry, I’m just… out of it.”

“Yeah, you said that yesterday too.” Castiel leans back in his seat across from the blonde, eyes searching the other’s face as if every little feature down to the cell itself had an answer, a  _ secret, _ behind it. “What’s really on your mind, Dean? I know it’s not just Sam.”

Another long, dreadful sigh. Dean knows if he just keeps breathing like this Castiel will get annoyed; all he’s doing is being nice, after all. But there’s just… so much to unpack. So,  _ so  _ much. Sam? Married to the girl of his dreams. Both his parents? Alive. Him? Rich and successful. Monsters? Nonexistent. And Castiel? No burden on his shoulders. Not a pinch.

And that’s what ticks him off the most.

Nobody has a burden on their shoulders here, and it… it’s not Dean’s world.

“I guess I’ve just been… thinking about everything.” The blonde admits, throwing himself back into his nicely padded seat.

“Everything like… what?” Castiel coaxes gently.

Dean shrugs. “My life.”

A pause. “Are you… unhappy?”

_ Unhappy doesn’t even cut it. _ “Just tired, I guess.”

“Do you want to go home, Dean?”

The blonde smiles at that, reminding himself of the bunker,  _ his  _ Sam and Cass.  _ That's _ his home. But he knows that’s not what this Castiel is referring to.

“Uh, let’s just enjoy our food for now, alright? I didn’t mean to dampen the mood.”

“Well, considering the fact that the sole reason I suggested coming here in the first place was to  _ get  _ you to talk, therefore dampening the mood already, I honestly don’t mind anything you wanna do. And I get I might be pushy but… you’re my friend, Dean. I think I remember in grade school that friends are taught to care for each other.”

Dean snickers, shaking his head. “Shut up. Eat up. I’ll drop you off back to your car when we’re done.”

\---

Dean pulls into the garage again, making a quick stop in front of Castiel’s car to let him out.

The angel─ _ other man _ takes his stuff from the backseat of Dean’s Impala, draping the strap over his shoulder wordlessly.

“See ya tomorrow, Cass.”

“I’d rather not.” The ravenette says. Dean perks a brow, taken aback by that response as Cass slips out of the car.

“Dean, if you need to stay home tomorrow, stay home. Just text me if you do. I don’t wanna see you moping around the whole day like I already did twice in a row.” He adds. “Just… take care. Of yourself. Always.”

Dean finds his voice being caught in his throat, nearly choking on it, suddenly bashful. “Uh… yeah. Yeah, of course, Cass. Uhm… you too.”

Castiel smiles at him softly. “Have a nice night, Dean.”


End file.
